


You’re Never Going to be President

by athenaofwar



Category: Minecraft - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, November 16th, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Toby Smith | Tubbo and Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot Angst, Wtf am I doing, flashbacks are italics, idk this is my first fanfic ever, sbi, sleepy bois inc - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:35:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29478549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athenaofwar/pseuds/athenaofwar
Summary: Tommy and Philza discuss what actually happened on the 16th
Relationships: TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 70





	You’re Never Going to be President

**Author's Note:**

> i’m sorry this is bad this is my first and only fic i’ve ever written and i wrote it like the week of the 16th so this is old  
> sorry phil is a little ooc i wrote this when i didn’t really know who he was

_“You’re never going to be president”_

A chill ran down Tommy's back, despite the humid climate. He and Philza sat along the remains of the canal, watching the others toil away at the clearing and reconstruction of L’manberg. 

Ever since his father’s return to the smp, after the events of the 16th, they’d spoken little about what had happened to Tommy’s older brother. Philza had given him and Tubbo the bare details, only that Wilbur had asked him to kill him after the detonation occurred. Tommy knew Phil kept quiet to protect him, but there was so much more he wanted, no, needed to know. Was he in pain? Was it quick? Did he sound sad? Did he realize what he’d done?

“Did he ask about me?” Tommy broke the deafening silence. Phil stiffened and his son could sense the dread radiating off of him. Tommy hadn’t even thought about it as he asked the question. It came out from his lips without his permission, a broken hearted boy's excuse for closure. Tommy's stomach twisted with guilt. Goddammit, that was the most selfish question to ask. It wasn’t fair to his father to ask him this, to make him relive his worst trauma.

Before the boy could sink into too deep a depression, Phil sighed and laid down, allowing his hat to fall off. Tommy observed his father. It'd been a long time since he’d seen him last, but the worst part was how much of each of his brothers he could see in him. Tommy inherited his sandy hair; Tubbo, his soft, kind eyes; Techno’s strong jaw; and Wilbur...Wilbur inherited his father’s strong will; his natural charisma, his kindness, aptitude of leadership.

“Well kid,” Phil hummed. “Do you want the truth or do you want to be happy?”

Tommy could hear the hint of humor, but it didn’t reach Phil's eyes. They were so heavy, bloodshot lines etched into them. Tommy guessed he’d gotten about as much sleep as the rest of them. 

Tommy laid down too, letting his chest rise and fall with the wave of the grass. “Damn being happy I guess.”

Phil chuckled quietly. “Yeah, yeah I guess so.” He paused for a moment, taking great care to plan his words. “No Tommy. He didn’t ask about you.”

The little brother knew that. Somewhere in him he knew his brother, his role model, his...everything; didn’t care about him anymore.

_Dream sat beside the blonde boy on the bench. Tubbo had just left to address his men, and the music record ended minutes ago. The silence was serene, albeit tense._

_After a moment, Dream let out a groan. “I suppose I should tell you that Wil really was the traitor all along. He had proposed you to be president so he could justify his action by proving you weren’t fit to rule; that his destruction occurring under your watch made it all okay.”_

_Tommy winced unintentionally._ _Every one of Dream’s words was another blade sinking into his already bloody chest._

_“Y’know Tommy,” Dream hummed. “-and I know you could give a rat’s ass what I think; but I think that before all of... “ He waved his hands vaguely. “This; that Wilbur would’ve been really proud of you. I didn’t think you had it in ya to turn down the presidency. Sure as hell shocked Wil.”_

_Dream adjusted his mask with long, scarred fingers. “You’ve grown up, Tommyinnit.”_

_The boy’s blood boiled and he wanted to scream every obscenity he knew to Dream. How dare he talk about Wilbur so casually? How could he just talk like Wilbur was some old friend; that he knew him? This was all Dream’s fault. They had been about to win. Wilbur would’ve been fine. They would’ve been fine. Everything was going to be fine. Tommy bit back the burning hot tears that welled up._

_He was not going to cry in front of that god forsaken blank porcelain mask of Dream’s. He made eye contact with those two simple dots on the mask, cold and unwavering._

_“Go to hell.” Perhaps it had been the blood roaring in the young boy’s ears, but he swore he heard a sigh from the green monster. Not one of annoyance, or anger,_ _or even disappointment. It was one of exhaustion. Try as he may to play the role of God in this server, Dream was human. The past few days had taken a toll on him. But Tommy didn’t care. He wanted Dream to be dead exhausted. He didn’t get pity. He didn’t deserve it_.

“Oh.” Was all the little brother could say.

Phil grunted. “Want me to keep going?”

He took Tommy’s silence as permission. “Well, when I found him, I could just tell something had gone horribly wrong. He was humming and singing to himself, something about a finally blown up L’manberg, F Eret-”

Tommy waved his hand to cut him off. “That was our national anthem. He scribbled the lyrics on the walls.”

Phil grimaced. “Yeah. I don’t think he was hearing anything I said. He just kept screaming, he was angry, and was lashing out, so goddamn certain he was in the right. And then he talked about Eret.”

Tommy tensed.

“He said Eret used to say, ‘it was never meant to be’. And then…” Phil’s sentence stopped there. It didn’t need to be finished.

_“Tommy why is the ground shaking so hard?” Tubbo called. His side was bloodied from Technoblade’s projectiles. Tommy’s best bet was that the heat from the firework had instantly cauterized the wound, but that didn’t fix the fact that Tubbo was pale and stumbling._

_First, it was just Niki’s scream. Then, everything around Tommy erupted into chaos and howls. The ground cracked beneath their feet and blistering heat escaped._

_Tommy grabbed Tubbo around the waist and nearly carried him away. Everything was happening too fast. Dream and Techno’s hysteric laughter echoed across the wailing and confusion. Tommy didn’t look back. He didn’t turn around._ Don’t look at the blood, don’t look at the blood, _he thought._ Remember, just like the war.

_The burning pressure behind them kicked up Tommy’s adrenaline and just kept running with his best friend at his side._

Don’t listen to the screaming, don’t listen to the screaming, _Tommy reaffirmed, but couldn’t help lending an ear to the angry cries, the endless crying and that gut-twisting familiar sound; TNT._

_“Did he do it?” Tommy wasn’t sure if he or Tubbo asked it, but knew they were both wondering it. He simply grunted and kept moving._

_Wilbur wouldn’t… would he? He had just said he wouldn’t… they’d won… he would’t…_

_“-mmy? Tommy!” Tubbo’s shouts shocked him back to reality. The boy looked around; they were a safe distance from the explosions. Didn’t mean they couldn’t still hear what was happening._

_“He did it,” Tubbo breathed, sounding more like a question than anything._

“And after that?”

Phil squeezed his eyes shut, as if he was trying to avoid seeing a memory. 

“He smiled. Wil was pleased with his choice. ‘My unfinished symphony’, he said.” The older man gritted his teeth. “And then he asked me to do it. To...kill him.”

Tense silence passed between the two again.

“Why’d you do it?” Tommy whispered. He didn’t care that it was rude or impolite to ask so soon. How could a father kill their own son?

A new gust of wind slid over the reclined duo. A feather of Phil’s wingspan slipped away, flying on its way to float down the canal.

The father sat himself up and scanned his child. He was so different from the others; so young to feel this burden.

_“I’ll fight you too, you pig tyrant! Come fight me if you think you’re strong enough!”_

_Phil glanced up from his tea and watched as his second youngest son, donned in a red bandana and bandaids making patchwork of his skin swung a wooden toy sword from atop a large rock. Technoblade, the second oldest son, scoffed and turned on his heel, ignoring the angry brother._

_Tommy was eight now, Tubbo seven, Wilbur sixteen and Techno thirteen. They were all certainly unique from each other, something easily displayed by just glancing at the children. Tubbo stumbled across the grassy terrain, chasing a small flock of butterflies. Technoblade, fresh out of ignoring his little brother, was tending to the garden, quietly and methodically. Wilbur rested against a great oak tree, humming tunes and writing down notes. And of course Tommy…_

_Tommy was trying to fight anyone bigger than him, which was becoming more of a pattern. Watching him challenge Wil and Techno to fights was like watching a chihuahua fight a horse. Such a small body, so full of rage and impulse. It would’ve been funny if not for the consequences of his lack of control._

_Because not everyone Tommy challenged to a fight would turn him down._

_Phil grimaced and poked his head out the window. “Hey, Tommy! Can you come in here for a sec?”_

_The fiery-eyed child made a sprint for the house as the tired father prepped himself. He knew he was still young but he needed to get this managed._

_Tommy settled himself in a cozy plush and watched his father intently, big blue eyes brimming with passion and curiosity._

_“Kiddo, we gotta talk about this whole,” Phil waved his hands, “picking fights thing. There’s people who are way bigger than you Tommy. And they will fight you.”_

Shit, _he thought, watching his son’s expression brighten excitedly_. Wrong words _._

_“But Tommy, I don’t think you quite grasp what would happen. These people will be bigger, stronger, taller and way more experienced than you. Your passion and temper are inspiring and admirable, they really are. But my son, you let it get the best of you.”_

_There was a moment that passed silently. Phil watched the sandy-haired child mull over the words a bit._

_“Well I guess I’ll just have to get even stronger!” Before he could be stopped, the boy was already running outside, running up to Wilbur. Phil groaned and soothed his temples. He was so proud of the child, but was so worried._

_The winged father observed as Wilbur raised a hand to pause Tommy, and was baffled when the child completely obeyed. He was like this though; rebellious against any authority except for Wil. He constantly was fascinated by the music and the magic of the oldest brother’s wit. Wilbur finished copying a note, then ruffled Tommy’s hair and invited him to sit beside him. The scene brought a comforted smile to his face._

Even if I’m not there, _Phil thought,_ at least I can trust that Wil will watch over him.

“I killed him because I knew he wasn’t living anymore. Wilbur was gone. That man who pressed the button was a husk of the boy I raised.”

Phil ran a hand through his hair. “And I killed my son. I live with that, and I will never be able to make up for it.”

Burning tears betrayed Tommy as he quickly hid his face.

“I’m so sorry, Tommy. About everything. I shouldn’t have left you boys alone.” Phil’s voice choked up. “It was quick and he wouldn’t have felt a thing.”

The second youngest son could hear Tubbo, Karl, Fundy and Quackity not too far off. The laughter, the yells, the clanging and sawing. Tommy envied how easy their laughter and smiles seemed, but even he knew they were all still suffering; Big Q, whether he showed it or not, mourned Schlatt. Fundy had just become an orphan, and while Phil was doing what he could, nothing could really replace that fatherly absence, even if that absence had existed for a while. And Tubbo... it had only been a week since the events of the 16th, but his little brother was taking his new leadership in strides.

_“Wilbur's last and best decision,” Niki hummed. Tommy blinked and turned to her. She was quietly assembling some lunches for the boys cleaning up the wreckage. A bowl of cake batter sat beside her. Red velvet. Huh._

_“What?”_

_Niki paused and wiped the flour off her hands. She seemed to contemplate the dark red of the velvet cake, then brushed back two loose strands of hair. “I think electing Tubbo was the best choice Wil ever made.” She looked down. “And it was the last.”_

_Tommy didn’t have the heart to tell her it was likely a selfish decision. Honestly, she probably already knew that. Ignorance was bliss. And they could all use a bit of it these days._

_Sunlight filtered into the remains of the bakery, dust and flour floating in the air. Niki beamed warmly at the sandy-haired boy, sitting peacefully at the counter. If Tommy hadn’t known her better, the smile would’ve seemed genuine. She was taking Wil’s death just as hard as anyone else, evident by the growing dark circles beneath her eyes and the stained coffee cups piling in the sink._

_Tommy clicked his tongue and returned the liar’s grin. “Yeah. Yeah it was.”_

Tubbo was doing so well, it was easy to forget he lost his brother too. Maybe that was on purpose. Maybe it’s easier for Tubbo to try to forget too.

_“You’re never going to be president, Tommy.”_

Strong gusts of wind ruffled the boy soldier’s hair, perhaps a reminder of simpler times of sitting beneath oak trees, listening to your brother hum tunes for his imaginary lands. Tommy couldn’t help a grieving smile from curling his lips.

Wilbur was right. Tommy was never going to be president. And after all these years of blood, sweat, tears, and grief; that was alright with him.


End file.
